


The day you took the good away

by The_Birds_And_Bees



Series: And the flowers whisper his name [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Five Stages of Grief, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I cannot emphasize how long Asriel spends confronting the visuals of death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Unreliable Narrator, graphic descriptions of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8672350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Birds_And_Bees/pseuds/The_Birds_And_Bees
Summary: Their body is wrapped in white cloth, and your mother tries her best to explain to you why this funeral has to be so different.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whittler_of_words](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whittler_of_words/gifts).



> To Kan; they’re such a good and deserve the world. 
> 
> And a gentle shoutout to WalkingMelonsAAA, who inspired this fic by _ripping my heart out_.

* * *

 

**Goodbye, goodbye!**

**There was so much to love, I could not love it all;**

**I could not love it enough.**

 

* * *

 

As coincidence would have it, staying up and waiting for your best friend to die is exhausting.

You’re not allowed to sleep in the same room, tonight. Chara is too unwell, and your parents too in and out to let you get any rest. You’re small enough that the big, comfy chair your mother always reads in practically swallows you whole, and you curl in your blankets and you stare at your paws and you wonder just how much longer this is going to take.

“It will be simple, Asriel.” Chara had told you. Part of you wanted to disagree, but it was different, when they spoke to you. No fanciful statements, no additional verbiage they were quick to use on others that added too many meanings for the real one to be picked up. With you, they were simply honest. You told yourself it was trust. “It will be quick.”

This isn’t quick. This isn’t quick at all- or perhaps it is, and it’s just that you don’t really want it to be. Perhaps you’re making it seem longer, because you don’t really want this to happen. You don’t really want them to die.

But you said you’d never doubt them.

And if that’s the case, you shouldn’t be feeling this way, you try to reason. There’s a picture on the mantle, and everyone is smiling, but Chara’s smile is the brightest of all. You keep your eyes on it, unblinking, until they blur from the effort. It’s a good lesson. You shouldn’t be feeling guilty and scared, because to do either is to doubt, and you said you’d never doubt them.

The image continues blurring, however, and your nose is still stuffy. Down the hall, your parents are talking to each other in low, urgent voices, and you think they’re talking about Gaster, because you swear you heard his name. You don’t know why they’d want to talk about him right now; Chara’s sick, not him, and he’s a scientist, not a doctor.

You want to be back in your room.

You want to be with Chara. Even if the weird, bubbly noise is still rattling in their throat every time they breathe, and even if they can’t talk to you anymore (hours, they haven’t spoken for hours, but you’ve whispered and pleaded and asked to stop this, and they haven’t said yes, so that’s a no). More than anything, you want to be with them. You need to be with them, because every moment you’re away is a moment they might go, and if you’re not there, you’ll lose them forever.

There is such a very big difference between an eternity together, and an eternity alone. As young as you are, children are not even a blip in the tangled thoughts of your mind. If you lose them, then it really does seem you’ll have to go on without them forever. It is not reassuring, not even remotely.

And you thought you were out of tears.

Familiar footsteps pull you out of the thick of your misery; there’s no surprise when you blink the water from your sight to watch your mother’s approach, the kind, understanding smile on her wane expression providing the smallest amount of comfort- you suppose you should be asleep by now, but there’s no sign of reproach in her countenance. For tonight, at least, she understands why you can’t sleep.

“Asriel; would you like to help me in the kitchen? I think we could all do with a nice cup of tea.” Preparing such a thing is usually what your father does; you think, sometimes, that nothing makes him happier than those several minutes spent leaning over the pot, letting the tea leaves steep to perfection before providing you with a cup of his latest favourite. Tea had never really been your thing; but Chara liked it, and it had become habitual to be there whenever they wanted to be there, because… because sometimes, they couldn’t really be around your father alone.

Most of the time, they couldn’t be around your father alone. Progress on that front had always been very slow and steady, much to Chara’s disgust. It was silly, they’d told you, like how they instinctively dropped to the ground at loud, sudden noises, or flinched when they weren’t prepared for physical contact. You couldn’t understand it, but that didn’t mean you found it silly. Nothing about them was silly.

“...Yeah,” You croak out, surprised at how dry your mouth and throat feel. Your mother needs no other encouragement than that; when you make to untangle yourself from the blankets and touch down on warm wooden floors, she’s quick to draw you up into her arms, hold steady as she carries you into the kitchen. You can’t find it in yourself to protest, tonight.

Leaning your head against her shoulder, your attention is stolen by watching the world pass by through motions that aren’t your own; a soft sense of muted wonder at the change of perspective from your usual line of sight in comparison to how it felt now, high up off the ground. You always liked to imagine that you would be this tall, when you get older. So high off the ground that you feel invincible.

Chara will never be this tall. Your enthusiasm is curbed immensely.

It’s an indication of just how tired she is that Toriel pulls out tea bags, rather than one of the multitudes of hand packed boxes filled with your father’s lovingly crafted scents. The kettle doesn’t take long to boil, even on the stove; and in the duration between tasks, your mother sways from side to side with gentle hums, leaving your eyes heavy.

“If I finish my drink, can I say goodnight to Chara?” The words come from your mouth with little thought to them, quiet. You feel the way that rocking pauses instead of seeing it.

“Of course you may, my child.” She sounds so sad, and it’s unfair, you think, to try reassuring her now. That she doesn’t need to be sad, because Chara will be here with you no matter what. Unfair, because you’re plenty sad yourself.

You’re also very tired. There’s a familiarity in listening to the gentle clink of cups and spoons, the scent of your mother’s cooking filling the space as always. Like cinnamon and butterscotch, gourmet snail dishes which had become her specialty; even more so, because Chara loved it.

Everything in your life has become so integrated with their presence, it’s impossible not to think of them. Despite that, it’s easy to find some comfort in this space, not so much easing off the burning of your heart as it contains it, gives you an aspect of peace your tired mind sorely needs as you stop thinking, and let the smaller senses wash over you. A sound, a scent. A voice, quiet and loving that was there at the start, and you can only imagine will be there at the end. Soft fur that covers strong arms; your mother is so very, very strong. You can be strong like her, if you only try.

It is so very simple to drift, in those senses. Your breathing evens out, and though you imagine that you are asleep, you still feel the presence of the world around you. You simply don’t do much to acknowledge it, not the quiet test of your name on your mother’s lips, or the inertia of movement from one room to the next. Toriel sits in her chair with you in her lap, and you cannot make the movements necessary to shift, letting her do that for you with a paw behind your knees and another that gently cradles your head.

You can hear the magic composing her being thrum under her skin in rhythmic bursts, not quite the same beat that stutters on and on in the one human you know, but so very close. It’s a wonderful thing, you think, that both humans and monsters exist with quiet music playing within.

You lose many, many hours, like this.

 

* * *

 

Chara’s gone by morning. 

“Human bodies do not disappear as we do, when they Fall Down,” Your father is the one who explains that to you, when you’re standing at the edge of the bed. He places a heavy paw on your shoulder, voice thick with emotion that leaks down the sides of his beard; because he is in mourning. Because, “They simply let out their last breath, satisfied by the life that they have lived. And they continue to rest in peace.”

You don’t agree. When you liken peace and what is before you right now, there is a contrast, sharp and immediate. Peace, in your mind, is the mornings when you’re the first to turn on the lamp, and Chara’s often restless sleeping patterns have caved way to the type of exhaustion that allows them to sleep well after noon.

They may have always felt absolutely wretched afterwards, but you never could bring yourself to wake them, even when they’d asked you to. You liked the fact that here, in your room, was the only place in the Underground they would sleep like this; chest slowly rising with each breath, lashes brushing against flushed cheeks as they unconsciously sprawled out on their back, one hand curled into a fist on their pillow. That was peace. A repose they couldn’t deny themself for once, when they usually did their best to deny everything else.

Their cheeks hold no flush now, and their skin is far too ashen, past the little streaks of red that haven’t been collected by the crimson spotted cloth on the bedside table. What does it mean, you’d whispered desperately to their prone form, when blood comes out of your pores? What does that mean? Are you in pain?

You’re never going to get an answer, now. It’s probably a little funny, that your dad is crying so much; your eyes aren’t even watering. You just keep looking at them, and thinking about the fact that they’re not there. They’re not there, and you think… you think they haven’t been there for a while now, maybe an hour, maybe two. Their body looks stiff and rigid, their arms straight by their sides beneath the sheets. It’s not peaceful.

You’d never told Chara this, because if you had, they would only sneer at you, but you’d never once thought they weren’t pretty. They’d always been fussing with themself in some fashion, always fixing the tiny flyaway pieces of their hair, always straightening their sleeves, and the way they’d looked at themself in the mirror was a variation of unkind glances and long, hollow stares, but you’d never once thought they weren’t pretty. So perhaps their body just isn’t pretty anymore, because they’re not there.

You think that’s the part you’re struggling with most. They’re not there. You can think it, and maybe there’s a part of you that knows it for sure, but for the most part, you’re not really responding to that. That they’re not there. If you know them as well as you think you do (and you do; you do know them. You understand them better than anyone else), then they wouldn't stay with their body if they had a choice. They would have left it as soon as they were able, to somewhere they liked to be.

You think that maybe their SOUL has hidden itself somewhere; under the bed, because that’s where Chara liked to go when they didn’t want to face anything else. You try holding your paw down a little lower, so they can come to you, but they don’t. All you really know is that you’re too scared to reach out and touch them, because you don’t really know what it is you’ll feel.

In the end, you don’t have to make that decision for yourself. Your father, paw still gentle on your shoulder, directs you out of the room and into the lounge, and though your mother’s eyes are red rimmed and her face older than you’ve ever seen it, she doesn’t cry either when you climb back into her lap, pressing an ear to her chest to listen to the magic that thrums beneath skin and fur.

Time passes so oddly, that day. There’s points in which you feel things have stretched out for eternity, and other times, you blink, and suddenly your parents are talking to someone else as if you aren’t in the room. You have a lack of response to that; less an acceptance than blind acknowledgement; Gaster comes, and Gerson; he’s so old, you really don’t think he should be captain of anything anymore, and his position is mostly just a title anyway, but then maybe it isn’t, because he seems pretty serious now. They both smile kindly down at you; they both kiss the back of your mother’s hand. They clap your father on the back, and whilst Gerson doesn’t enter your bedroom, Gaster does. It’s not really okay; Chara hadn’t liked being around him.

You’d follow and tell him as much, except your mother’s arms are tight around you, and you have the scary thought that, should you break free of them, you’ll leave your body behind, as well. The world has plenty of color to it, and you can see that- but you can’t feel it. There’s not much sense of anything in you at the moment, and the day continues passing in that strange burst of moments.

When your mother goes to lay down, she takes you with her. She’s never done this before, not during the day, and even though you lay perfectly still beside her, you don’t sleep, even as she gently pats down your ears and hums ancient lullabies in a language she’s promised to teach you when you’re a little bit older.

Chara had liked it, too. Chara had always been enchanted by everything; anything that wasn’t human. They’d loved your culture and your way of life more than they’d ever loved themself- you’re not just making that up. They’d told you as much, as easily as commenting on the weather. And you know it was true, because they’d used simple honesty, they way Chara did only when they were alone with you.

The human may have been adopted by your family, but you had always known that you were more important. Because simple honesty was what they gave you, and they never hesitated to tell you things you wouldn’t like, not like your mom and dad would.

You think that you should probably go be with them right now. Now, more than ever, you need to make sure you don’t leave their side. They’d probably be angry at you, and that’s okay. They get angry when they’re scared, and you’ve been gone for too long. You should go back to your room.

Even if you know you should, it doesn’t make you move. You keep staring at the purple of your mother’s blouse, and though your eyes itch, they remain dry.

Chara needs you, but you don’t move- that really does make you a terrible best friend, doesn’t it?

 

* * *

 

The shops in New Home are full of intelligent, capable monsters, more than willing to show off their crafts to the prince and their newest monarch. You didn’t go very often (only on the days that were very, very good, and very good days didn’t come to Chara easily) but you relished what times you had, pulling Chara from stall to stall and pretending to linger patiently when little moments occurred, Chara’s fingers keeping you still as they put their head down and let monsters move past, breathing haggard.

Another little quirk to Chara was the fact that they didn’t like people walking behind them, and recalling the way they’d described it to you once left you with this decidedly odd crawling sensation. You couldn’t help but imagine that people really were following you both, overly aware of just how long it took for them to pass by. You’d always let few more seconds pass before you moved along; and you never moved until Chara did. You always walked a little in front of them, so they never had to worry about you being out of sight.

It was still fun, though. They didn’t really like looking at things refurbished from the Surface, but they did love the craftsmanship of certain vendors; sculptors and jewellers, woodcarvers and hat shops. They’d run their hands over everything, and you have a list in your mind of all the items that their touch had lingered upon, whenever they liked the texture.

You know this particular stone mason well, because Chara had always left his workspace with an oddly satisfied gait and a small (but genuine) smile. He’d let the both of you watch him work, and you’d eyed the way his four hands moved over each piece with confident prowess that inevitably lost your interest- but not Chara’s. Never Chara’s.

He brings a box to the castle, made of smooth, grey stone. It sits in the entranceway a while, and you run the pads of your paws across it when your mother lets you go when the adults move of into the living room, nodding vacantly when your father tells you to be good.

The box is big; big enough that you could lay down in it...but it doesn’t look very comfortable. What you like about it most, however, is the bright red SOUL inscribed on the top. Indented under your touch, the careful carving holding an entirely different texture to it than anything else. That occupies you for a moment, until you find yourself wondering why this SOUL is upside down, and colored.

And then you think about how Chara’s SOUL might look, and it seems very, very right for them. Bright red; a lighter color than their eyes, but it holds that same sense of flames to it. Unceasing red.

Looking over at archway, you wait several moments, just to see if anyone is coming back. You can hear for father’s deep, rumbling tone, but no one comes back to check on you. Presumably, you’re not needed right now; forgotten and alone in a way you haven’t been for almost two years, now.

...Chara needs you, don’t they? Your mother’s hold isn’t keeping you at bay; once your paw slips from the edge of the box, that’s it. There’s nothing holding you at all, and you float through the entranceway like a ghost. Down the hall and into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you quietly. The lamp beside Chara’s bed is still on, and you approach readily enough, stopping inches from the edge of the mattress.

You don’t know, or can’t remember, but Chara’s lips are parted, and you don’t know if they were before. They haven’t been moved, and the small streaks of red on their skin have crusted over into a dirty brown.

They haven’t changed aside from that in the time you’ve been gone; skin still too pale, position too stiff to be peaceful. Carefully, you crouch down to look under the bed, but there’s nothing there. There’s nothing in the closet, or the bedside table. You even check your stuffed toys, though you know they’ve never really interested them, not at all.

Eventually, you make your way back to the bed. You listen, but the only sound that meets your ears is your own, unsteady breathing, the quiet scuff of your feet as you shift from one leg to the other.

“I’m sorry; I’m ready now,” You tell them. You want to sit on the edge of the bed, but it feels like an intrusion of space when they can’t tell you that it’s okay. “I guess I was really tired...but we can still do this, right? We can free everyone.”

They don’t answer you. But they didn’t answer you yesterday… the- the night before yesterday. You don’t think they can answer you anymore. But that’s fine.

“You have to give me your SOUL, okay? Like we talked about. Then we can be together…”

Your voice trails off weakly without their own to support it, and you hold your hand out in a useless motion, almost as if they’ll sit up and hand you something bright and red, now that you’ve asked for it. The light from the lamp doesn’t waver. Nor does their lack of response. There’s no glimmer of a SOUL.

What are you supposed to do? Chara told you to take it; they never told you how. Just that they had to be dead, and you think- well, your dad told you, didn’t he? When the body dies, it sighs, and goes to sleep. It doesn’t breathe.

How do you take the SOUL, then? A fang worries against your lower lip, hand poised over their chest and hesitant. It’s not like you don’t know a little bit about SOULs; you know as much as any other monster. It’s just- you always thought that Chara would just come to you, maybe, because Chara wanted to be here. Without you having to urge them out of hiding for once.

“You...this was your idea. You don’t have to be so difficult.” It’s a little hard to breathe, like this. You really have to push your lungs to work, certain that they’ll tell you how silly you look the moment you locate them, but the longer you stand here with nothing, the more your paw shakes. Your arm. Your entire body.

When you rest your palm on their chest, it’s as if every part of you that had scattered about the house is thrown back into you at once. Their nightshirt is cool to the touch; crusted over with...things, and the stuttered music of their heart (“All humans have one, Asriel, even if they like to pretend otherwise”) never meets you. Chara’s body is stiff and hard, and you’re so shocked by it all that you can’t help the bewildered whimper that escapes you, stumbling back until you hit your own bed. You go down in a heap, still staring across the way, at Chara’s body; they’re not here, now, but they do need you, and you promised you could do it.

But you can’t.

You can’t do it. You don’t want to touch them again, and it’s so selfishly weak, to be so scared of their body like this, just because it’s no longer pretty enough for you. You hold your arm against your stomach like you’ve been wounded, and you stare across that space with wide eyes until footsteps rush down the hall and your mother sweeps in, not scolding in the slightest as she sweeps you up off your feet and takes you- takes you out. Takes you away and back to the living room.

The stone mason is gone, but Gaster and Gerson have taken up the space, watching you specifically as you’re carried over to your mother’s chair, as she sits down with you in her lap.

“Asriel, my child.” Your mother speaks to you in low tones, bumping her cheek against yours, cupping your chin and lifting your head up, looking into your eyes. “It is okay now. I am right here.”

“I don’t…” Your voice fades out all too quickly, and it is not brave at all, “I don’t understand. Where’s Chara?”

Toriel smiles at you, her eyes shining. To your left, your father crouches down; once again, he’s unabashed at the weight of his emotions, letting the tears fall into his beard as they may. He clears his throat, and it takes several moments before you realize he’s not going to speak, even though his mouth is open.

“Chara… was very ill,” It’s your mother who tries to explain, though you’re sorely pressed not to interrupt; you _knew that_ , you want to say. You caused it. “Despite our best efforts, there was very little we could do for them. Do you remember what your father told you, yesterday?”

“Yes.” You don’t mean to sound so sullen, but you do. You know their body isn’t really them anymore, you do. That’s not what you mean; it’s not what you’re looking for.

If someone would just tell you what to do, you could do it. Chara’s still waiting for you. The more you think about it, the guiltier you feel, leaving them waiting. Because you’ve been scared, because you haven’t been paying attention.

“Chara Fell Down, and they did not recover. They have passed on, Asriel.” Your father murmurs, and you can tell he’s trying to be strong like your mother. He still sounds funny, like there’s numerous things caught in his throat, and it is still not the answer you’re looking for.

“But what about their SOUL? Human SOULs are supposed to- they stay, right? They stay there.” You insist, sitting up a straight. “I have to take care of them- they’re all alone. Please…”

“Oh Asriel.” Water falls on your nose; you jerk away, shocked as your mother’s tears dash down her own cheeks, wetting silken fur. She smiles at you, both fond and unendingly sad, and that’s how you know you’ve missed something. Something very important. “It is true that human SOULs linger after… however, they do not remain forever. When Chara’s SOUL appeared, your father…”

The two of them share a look, grim and resigned. Gerson shifts within the periphery of your vision; though he’s old and haggard, the look he’s giving them now is sharp.

“Your father and I knew that Chara may lose this fight. Though the decision was difficult, Chara- your sibling has earned their rest.”

“You have no need to fret, Asriel,” Your father says, attempting reassurance, “Chara has passed on. We would not have allowed for their SOUL to be taken.”

They wouldn’t have allowed for-

“But they stay. Chara was staying; they were waiting for me.” They were waiting for you. They told you, they’d wait. You were supposed to take their SOUL. Everyone would be free.

“Chara is no longer here, my son.” It’s almost as if the words physically pain him, though your father draws himself up somewhat, returning Gerson’s sharp look with a tired one of his own. “They have died.”

“No, they haven’t. I was supposed to-” You were going to say goodnight, you remember. Resting against your mother’s chest, you had asked her if that was alright, and you think that if you had, you may have been just a little more awake, again. If you’d been away from the precious sounds and scents of the kitchen, and had heard how painfully shallow each intake of breath had been, you would have stayed awake. You would have been there when their body drew its last breath, and you would have seen their SOUL.

You were supposed to take them to the Surface. You were supposed to free everyone.

“I’m depending on you, Asriel,” Chara had told you, raising their chin in that way that’s meant to be a challenge. When you bristle, they duck their chin back down, bumping your noses together before you can retort. And you’re so surprised you forget what you were going to say, staring at them as they give you one of those rare, simply honest smiles. “I know you won’t let me down.”

You let them down.

You take stock of this information, silent. Everyone else is silent as well, though your father and Gerson have yet to look back at you. You don’t realize, young as you are, that they’re already fighting a very different battle than the one in your mind, as the jigsaw puzzles all fall into place with an almighty click.

Chara’s dead.

Over a day later, and it’s just now hitting you that they’re actually dead. They’re gone. You can help them, and you’ve failed them, and the harsh burning in your heart comes back at about the same time your body turns to jelly, SOUL shaking under the momentous slap back to reality as you come face to face with the concept that they are really, truly dead. They are really dead. They are really gone.

You let them down.

You shriek in your mother’s arms, and your eyes, dry for such a very long amount of time, still have tears to shed after all.


End file.
